


For Want of an Apocalypse

by Vituperative_cupcakes



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Ford makes good on his ultimatum, Gen, Weirdmageddon never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vituperative_cupcakes/pseuds/Vituperative_cupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's said that truly dark times bring people together. But the summer ended with a whimper, not a bang, and the Pines brothers went their separate ways. Now Bill is still out there, and the two Stans will have to reconcile their differences if they want to prevent the end of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For want of a rift...

“Something small. Your uncle won’t even know it’s missing…”

Mabel rummaged around in the bag. “Nerd books...chewed pens...huh. I don’t see anything like that.”

Blendin’s face fell. “YOU MEAN YOU—” he cleared his throat. “You don’t have it in your bag?”

Mabel eyed the bag, shaking out the bottom. “I guess not.”

 

“Easy does it...easy does it...there! Sealed like a canopic jar. I knew you could do it.”

Dipper laid a shaking hand down on the tabletop. “So that did it? It won’t break now?”

Ford laughed. “No, Dipper. You took care of it.  _ We  _ took care of it. On your first step towards—”

“Okay, great-uncle Ford, I’m really glad about that, but I  _ really  _ need to go take care of something.”

And Dipper left, hoisting the walky-talky like an olympic torch, leaving Stanford behind.

Ford reclined and looked at the rift. The adhesive molded perfectly to the containment sphere. It was like the crack had never even happened….

Of course, it probably wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t made the portal in the first place. That’s Stanford, always putting his brain before common sense.

Ford sighed and dragged fingertips across his scalp. The temporary relief that came with repairing the sphere was already abating, and in its place was a flood of anxiety.

The globe gleamed in one six-fingered hand. Funny, now that he held it here, it looked like one of those kitschy snow globes his brother sold upstairs.

Brother…

Ford rose, eyes on the ceiling above him.

Now that the rift was fixed, it didn’t change anything, did it? It didn’t change anything about anything.

Dipper came shuffling in around dinner time, rubbing the back of his head and half-mumbling that he couldn’t really take the apprenticeship, he had to go home with Mabel and he was so, so sorry.

Ford surprised him by taking it cheerfully. Dipper’s hero-worship had him terrified of letting his great-uncle down. But Ford took off a single glove and had Dipper shake his hand.

“But,” he said, “are you sure this is what you want, Dipper? What you  _ really  _ want?”

And Dipper looked back to the dining room table, where Mabel was making brown meat puppets with Grunkle Stan, and smiled.

Ford recognized that smile.

And he knew all was lost before Dipper even said, “yeah, dude. I’m sure.”

Ford had seen that smile before, on someone else’s face. It meant  _ I will follow you anywhere, ever, and never let go of your hand. _

He had seen it on Stan’s.

 

The rest of the summer went too quick. The kid’s birthday was a quiet affair, Mabel spent most of it showing him how to work the touchscreen on his new tablet(“a birthday gift for my Grunkle, because I owe him twelve years of presents!”) Wendy made Dipper blush and stammer as they exchanged hats. Maybe that was a new thing the kids were doing. That weirdo Soos just hung around until his abuelita came to pick him up.

And Stan was...Stan.

He stood with folded arms, looking up at the shack. Smiling at Mabel. Leering at Dipper’s childish attempts at romance. Puzzledly accepting a hug from Soos.

Mostly looking everywhere but Ford.

After they got the kids on the bus, there was a moment of crisp, clear silence.

Then Stan said, “are you really going to go through with this?’

His tone was empty of rancor. He sounded tired. Ford was tired. It had been a thirty-year journey home, and he hadn’t really had time to process the events of the summer.

“Stan,” he said, “don’t make me the bad guy, here. We’ve had separate lives over the past thirty years, I don’t think we can just drop all that and pretend nothing’s happened. Anyway, I’m sure the last thing you want to do is hang around with me doing nerdy science all the time.”

Stan wouldn’t look at him. He was looking after the bus with the kids on it, staring down the road as if he’d find what he wanted to say written in the cracked and broken pavement.

“Are you going to thank me?” He asked in a hollow tone.

Ford nearly growled. After everything that happened, that’s all he cared about?

“Fine, Stanley. Thank you for bringing me back. And thank you.”

Stan turned to him with a puzzled look. “What was that second one for?”

“For leaving. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have important things to attend to.”

There was a brief moment where Stanley looked absolutely devastated before his face contorted in anger.

“Oh sure, go ahead and dump me, it’s not like I’ve ever done anything important.  _ Except saved your butt from a crazy hell-dimension! _ ”

Ford was already walking away. 

“Go ahead and go back to your nerd science, it’s all you’ll ever have! I can take care of myself! It’s not like I’ve ever had help from anybody!”

No matter how loud he shouted, Stan’s voice slowly faded as the distance between them grew.

“ _ I hope you’re happy, Stanford! I hope you never… _ ”

After a while there was only the sound of birds in the trees and gnomes throat-singing from the rocks.

 

Ford had a dream that night. It wasn’t about Bill, which wasn’t really comforting because he was still out there, biding his time. 

He was on a boat in the Arctic, fumbling with a harpoon. A kraken had engulfed the port side of the ship and he had to make it go away. The beast flung out a tentacle and snagged the harpoon. He screamed for help, which, in the manner of dreams, made no sound. He had to hit the beast with something. He turned to find the flare gun—

And found Glass Beach, New Jersey. The boat he was on had a gaping hole in the bottom, and the wood was rotten. He looked down at his hands. They were old and shaking.

 

Stanley dreamed, laying across both seats of the STNLYMBL with his feet sticking out from under a too-short blanket. His dream was far more simple, and far more troubling. 

In it, he stood in front of the mystery shack. It was night, and a warm yellow glow came from the attic window. There was a new edition to the shack, a slightly tilted chimney that looked like a top hat.

And then the attic window winked at him.


	2. For want of a reunion...

Ford ‘s eyes popped open at promptly six o’clock.

“Helloooo….Mr. Pines...are you up yet?”

Ford groaned and rubbed his eyes. In fumbling for his glasses, he pricked his hand on the lizard skull on the night table. Yelping, he leapt to his feet and stubbed his toe on a Crinoid fossil. He hopped his way downstairs to the store.

Soos greeted him with a smile.

“Oh hello, Mr. Pines. Is Mr. Pines here? Mr. Pines usually likes me to get to work right about now. Have you seen Mr. Pines around, Mr. Pines?”

Head spinning, Ford replied. “Soos, I'm not sure anyone told you, but my brother is gone. I'm closing down the mystery shack.”

There was a beat where everything balanced on the point of a pin. And then, slowly, it began teetering.

“Mr. Pines...gone?”

Wobble.

“Mystery shack...closed?”

Wobble.

“Soos?”

“I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have no use for a...whatever it is you do.”

Full tilt.

Soos burst into tears and fled the shack, his steps shaking several cheap knickknacks from their shelves.

Ford sighed and went to fetch a broom.

 

The first thing to do would be to tear down some of the many, many, many signs indicating the mystery shack. They proliferated like toadstools across the countryside. A few Stan had stuck on top of signs for other tourist traps. It was sweaty, unpleasant work and after a few hours Ford’s growling stomach forced him to stop.  He decided to try out the diner. It had been thirty years, maybe the food had improved.

The waitress with the name 'Susan' on her uniform bustled over to him, slopping coffee on the table in her eagerness. Ford shrank back a little. Did he look like a generous tipper?

“Stanny!” She gushed.

Ford’s heart fell.

“A-actually, ma’am—”

“Don’t you ma’am me!” She needled his shoulder with one of her talon-like fake nails. “My favorite customer hasn’t been in for so long!”

“Really, I—”

“How’ve you been? Is there a chance for another date now that the kids have gone?” She leered at him with her one good eye.

Ford coughed into his hand. “It appears you’ve mistaken me for my twin brother. That happens. A lot.”

Lazy Susan’s face fell. Ford wondered if this was going to be a reoccurring theme.

“You’re not Stan? Well...where is he?”

“He left town. He’s graciously decided to let me have my house back. I'll be living here from now on.”

Her lip wobbled. “Did he leave a number?”

Ford snorted. “The only thing he left me is grief and a houseful of termites. I'm actually working on a sonic discouragement box because there isn’t enough poison in North America to evict the colony.” He set a small box on the table.

Susan perked up. “Neato! So you’re one of those brainiac types, huh? I'm pretty good at fixing things myself.”

She hit the side of the box with her fist. A bolt of electricity spat out in retaliation.

“Ow, my other eye!”

 

After a mortifying lunch with a 500% tip, Ford decided to try walking around town. It was funny how little had changed, even after thirty years. Ford stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled.

“Hey Mr. Pines!”

Ford turned with a benevolent smile. “Yes, young citizen?”

A vanful of teenagers screeched past. Ford got a flash impression of hoodies, dyed hair, and malevolent laughter as they pelted him with eggs. The van screeched away. Ford stood with egg dripping down his coat, blinking.

 

The cabin still stood on the edge of the lake. Except for the additions of an AC unit and an all-terrain jeep parked outside, it was exactly as it had been thirty years ago.

Ford stood outside, just looking at it.

Thirty years. He had noticed the McGucket-ian touches to the design of the memory gun. ‘ _I fear we’ve unleashed a great danger on the world. One I'd just as soon forget._ ’ And you did, didn’t you Fiddleford?

Ford stood for a long time, just looking. Wondering what it would be like. The kids had mentioned an _old man McGucket_ , that was probably Fiddleford. Ford chuckled. Fiddleford was a year his junior. Did that make him _old man Pines_?

There was movement. The cabin door opened and a man with a cap over his eyes peered out. There was a moment where he seemed to waver, as if trying to reconcile two images at once. Ford was getting used to that.

Then, something steely took over the man’s body language and he marched out without bothering to shut the door. Ford readied himself. The young man did not look happy to see him.

“Stanford Pines?” He asked sharply as he drew closer. “The _real Stan_ ford Pines?”

Ford could do nothing but nod.

“Do you know me?” The young man drew off his hat. “Do you know me?”

Under the hat, he had eyes like Fiddleford—keen and angry. Ford was reminded of the moment they parted.

“You never met me,” the young man said, “but I know you. Tate McGucket.”

Ford felt he had to say something. “You’re...you’re Fiddleford’s son, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Tate was seething. “I know all about you, Stanford Pines. My dad used to talk about you, back when he had a mind.”

Ford’s stomach sank. “I'm so sorry.”

Tate angrily tossed a shoulder as if flinging away the comment. “Sorry? Sorry?? Thanks to you I only had half a father growing up! Do you know what it’s like to watch your dad's mind dissolve while you can’t do anything about it? He went after my mom with a pterodactyl robot when she left him!”

“I-I'm so sorry, I wish there was something I could do.” The old helplessness was flooding in. He had to fix this. There had to be a way to fix this.

“Save it.” Tate turned abruptly. “Welcome home, Stanford Pines.”

He stalked away.

 

_Welcome home, Stanford Pines._

Ford sank deep into the recesses of the recliner and stared at his uneaten grilled cheese sandwich. Even the recliner refused to accept him, forming to the much more hard-lived trenches of his brother’s posterior.

The house settled. Now that it was empty, he could hear the chewing sound of an entire termite dynasty.

Ford sighed and it echoed among the timbers.

God, the house had been so full when the kids were here that you didn’t even notice it. He had forgotten how lonely it had been when he’d lived here himself, researching. At least back then the work had been enough to preoccupy him. Now...everything just felt hollow.

Ford rubbed the bridge of his nose where his glasses sat.

Research had lost its shine the day he realized he’d summoned a demon. And if he didn’t have that, what was he?

Ford pulled the lever and brought the recliner upright again. That wasn’t something to worry about now. He had to dedicate himself to banishing Bill once and for all. Happiness was a luxury, a reward for when he did the right thing.

He looked all around at the knickknacks that cluttered the house and sighed again.

...soon. Tomorrow he had more cleaning to do.


	3. For want of new humbug...

“Sweetie, could you pass the yams?”

Not looking up from _The Cardiff Giant: a History of Hoaxes_ , Dipper shuffled a bowl of mashed yams to his mother.

“All I'm saying is, Windows 8 should be the best one,” his father was lecturing, “no more of that clunky start menu. Everything’s pictures now, like on smartphones. Everyone knows smartphones are the wave of the future!”

Mabel took another scoop of asparagus and brought it up to Waddles, who was wearing a blonde wig and green glasses with clunky plastic rims. The pig snorted and gobbled it right up.

“Mabel, I wish you wouldn’t feed the pig at the table,” her mother said.

“This isn’t a pig! He’s Piggy Stardust, the fashion icon!”

“Somebody tell Piggy that figure eight glasses are _so_ last year,” Dipper snarked from behind his book.

Mabel launched a spoonful of meatloaf at him. “He’s not out of style! He’s retro!”

Whatever argument this might have devolved into was cut short by the rumble of an engine in the driveway. The parents exchanged looks. Dad stood up from the table.

“You stay here. I’ll see who it is.”

His family immediately followed him as he stood in the front door and peeked out into the yard.

A burgundy car hauling a series of trailers had parked diagonally down the driveway. The lead trailer had “Mr. Mystery’s Traveling Weird Emporium” painted on the side. The paint was sloppy and ran, and the letters got smaller towards the end as if whoever painted them hadn’t calculated the space properly.

Someone kicked open the car door and stood up. In what little light came from the nearby streetlamp, they could just make out a familiar silhouette.

“Grunkle Stan!” the kids screamed.

Stan stepped down and held out his arms. “Why don’t you two knuckleheads give Grunkle a hug?”

As the twins ran into his arms, their father readjusted his glasses.

“Uncle Stan?” He said. “What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t leave Oregon...ever?”

Stan straightened up, ruffling Dipper’s hair under his hat. “Well,I  was just thinking: I’ve spent thirty years sitting in the same spot for no good reason. Why don’t I try to move around a little? So I'm taking the mystery show on the road!”

The family gave him dubious looks.

“Okay, maybe I just missed you two. It happens.”

Dipper looked along the line of trailers. “So what do you have in there, Grunkle Stan?”

“The mysteries of the northwest, kid.”

“Ah, so the same old humbug.” Dipper nodded sagely.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I carry an entirely new line of humbug.”

The three of them broke into laughter. The Pines parents, still on the front step, looked at each other.

“Mr...Stan,” mom ventured, “would you like to come in for dinner?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”

There was a zap and a whiff of ozone as a circle of white-blue light bloomed on their front lawn.  Ford dashed out of it, glasses askew, hair sticking up in places.

“HeykidsIjustinventedaportaldgunandIhadtocomesay—”

He saw Stan and stopped.

Stan’s mouth was a line that turned down slightly at the corners. His eyes were flinty.

“I’ll be inside,” he said. He unfolded his arms and stomped into the house.

The Pines that were left in the yard stared at each other.

“Uncle Stan?” Dad offered weakly. “The other uncle Stan? Gosh, it’s been quite a family reunion. Would you like to—”

“Oh no, no.”  Ford went sheepish, tucking the gun behind his back. “I just came to say hi...so...hi.”

“So you’re doing new science? That’s great!” Mabel gushed. “Grunkle Stan is doing new mystery stuff.”

Ford snorted and rolled his eyes. “More fakes made by sticking old stuffed animals together. At least I make all my science from scratch. Speaking of which…” he pulled a cellphone from his pocket.

“Wow!” Dad whistled low. “That’s a beauty. What is that, an Android?”

“Nope, no complex AI in sight, just pure electronics. I whipped this baby up myself.”

Mabel squealed. “You have a phone now? That means I can text you all sorts of pictures!”

Ford adjusted his glasses. “ _Text_ a _picture_? Mabel, are you sure you’re speaking English?”

“Well, this means we can call you wherever you are. Whenever.” Dipper laughed awkwardly. “That would be cool, right?”

Ford smiled. “Of course. I’d love to keep in touch with my two favorite twins.”

A loud _harrumph_ echoed from inside the house.

“I’ll just go see if he’s alright,” mom said hastily, and beat a retreat inside.

“Well,” dad said, looking awkwardly from the children to his uncle. “Isn’t this just…”

He eased his way backwards into the house.

Ford wrote on a paper and held it out to them. “Here. I don’t have a ‘phone number’ per se, but if you dial this combination on any phone, it’ll ring me.”

Dipper looked at the paper. “Grunkle Ford, some of these numbers are doubled up.”

“Yeah, that means you hold them down at the same time.”  Ford felt his chin thoughtfully. “Might need an extra set of hands for that.”

“On it!” Mabel shouted, taking her arms from inside her sleeves and sticking them out the bottom of her shirt so it looked like she had four arms. The three of them laughed.

Ford got down low enough so that he could put an arm around the kid’s shoulders.

“And remember, I want you to call me for any reason. Any reason.” He let significance lean on the last word.

Dipper nodded gravely. “I got it.”

“Kids, your dinner is getting cold,” Stan called crankily from in the house.

“Grunkle  Ford, we gotta go in.” Mabel had put her arms back in her sleeves and now she worried the hem of her shirt with both hands. “But we’ll see you around...won’t we?”

Ford kissed the top of her head. “Of course, sweet pea. Now get on inside.”

He stayed, waving, in the yard, until after they shut the front door.

 

“Grunkle Stan?”

Stan cracked an eye. The bar of the sofabed dug right into the small of his back. Waddles had decided to snuggle up to his side and was making contented pig noises.

In the wan light of the stovetop bulb, he could just make out his grand-nephew’s form standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Did something happen between you and Grunkle  Ford?”

Stan closed his eyes and sighed. “Kid...it’s just grownup junk. Ride out your teenage years and be happy you don’t have to deal with it for a while.”

“Oh.” the silence lingered for a moment. “You know, he offered to let me stay in Gravity Falls.”

That sank in like a lead weight. Stan’s eyes popped open again. “He did _what_?”

“He wanted me to be his apprentice. Said special people like the two of us were drawn to a special place like that.”

 _Why that son of a…_ Stan shook with anger.

“Listen, kid. That’s a whole lot of hooey.  Ford doesn’t care about anyone or anything besides himself.”

“I don’t think so.” Dipper’s voice was a whisper. “I think he really believed that. I’ve read about it. People who lose a twin sometimes try to twin with someone else.”

“He didn’t lose me, he–look, Dipper. The only reason  Ford praises anyone is when they do what he wants. You did the right thing. You didn’t leave Mabel alone.”

“But now  Ford’s all alone.”

“Yeah, and he’s probably happy as Waddles in a watermelon patch. He made his bed, kid. He can sleep in it.”

Dipper was silent for a minute. Then he whispered something so fast Stan didn’t quite catch it.

“.llaf nac ytivarg drah woh tsuj tuo dnif ll'uoy noos dna tuo ton tub nwod m'I”

Stan opened his eyes.

Waddles was drooling on his arm. The doorway of the kitchen, lit only by the light of a 40-watt appliance bulb, was empty.


	4. For want of a fair shot...

“Step right up! Step right up! See the mysteries previously available only to the greater Oregon state!”

Stan stood on an upturned bucket, eyepatch clashing horribly with a hawaiian shirt and bermuda shorts.

“Grunkle Stan, it’s not summer anymore,” Dipper said, looking away from Stan’s upsettingly bare legs, “please dress like an adult.”

“This  _ is _ dressing like an adult. I'm a California businessman, baby! After this I'm going out for a surf and turf dinner and a stroll along the wharf.”

“”Business men don’t do that here. They dress in suits. Your suit would have been fine.”

“Sheesh. Brings back bad memories, kid. I can’t believe I spent thirty years cooped up in that rickety hut.” Stan rapped the side of the trailer with his stick. “See! The Basilackalope, the terrifying offspring of a Basilisk and a Jackalope! Witness! The fragment of a bigfoot scalp sold to me by an old army buddy! Gawk! At the nearsighted mummy!”

Stan gestured to a figure seated by the door of a trailer, unconvincingly equipped with dark glasses and a cane.

“Grunkle Stan, is that just a toilet paper mummy with sunglasses?”

Stan bent over and hissed, “can it, kid! That’s the real article, I couldn’t afford enough toilet paper.”

“Ah so it’s a regular fake mummy with sunglasses, gotcha.” Dipper shot him a thumbs-up.

Stan growled and prodded him in the butt. “All the energy you spend on sass could be used more constructively. Like manning that ticket booth.”

“Grunkle Stan, I don’t work for you anymore.”

“Hey, you’re family. You never worked  _ for  _ me, you worked  _ with  _ me. Now work with me in that ticket book or I’ll dock your pay.”

Dipper sighed. “And just what do you think you’ll make when you’re set up right outside a carnival?”

Someone screamed on the tilt-a-hurl behind them. Stan looked shiftily from side to side, then bent down low.

“Look, kid, first rule of sideshows, hitch your wagon to a star. Like those fish that suction on the bottoms of sharks and eat their leftovers.”

“That’s pretty illegal here.”

“Lots of things are pretty illegal here. It’s stifling.” Stan wiped his brow. “Where’s your sister, anyway?”

“She went in the carnival, Grunkle Stan. You know, like I told you I was going to do before you sidetracked me.”

“Carnival? Boo-yah!” Stan hung a ‘be right back’ sign on the main trailer and jumped down. “I'm the king of carnivals. Lemme show you how to have a good day on the midway.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will steal your mummy?”

Grunkle Stan nudged him with an elbow and whispered. “Between you’n me, that mummy’s starting to give me the creeps. I think it’s actually a real-fake mummy, and not a fake-real mummy.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Wow. I did  _ not  _ miss this.”

 

“Dipper! Grunkle Stan!” Mabel was in front of a game booth, hopping in the air and waving both hands. Despite the still-warm night, she wore a sweater with a pinata on it.

“Mabel, what’re you doing, sweetheart?”

Mabel pointed. “Grunkle Stan, this booth has the most perfect pegasus stuffie and I need it in a serious way.”

“I thought you were over mythical horses,” Dipper said.

“Unicorns, bluh.” Mabel grinned and flung her hand. “They’re nothing but a snooty bunch of jerks. But everyone knows peguseses are gentle, kind creatures. Nothing that flies could be that bad.”

Stan and Dipper exchanged looks and simultaneously decided not to speak the word ‘pterodactyl.’

“But I can’t knock the cans down,” Mabel whined, “Dipper, you need to get it for me.”

Dipper looked down at his undeveloped bicep and put a hand behind his head. “Gee, Mabel, I dunno…”

“Step aside, kid. Leave this to the pro.” Stan shoved in front of him and laid down a dollar. “Three tries, my man.”

The bored carny manning the booth said, “it’s five dollars.”

“Umm...senior discount?” Stan smiled the retiree’s  _ if you deny me this bargain I will hunt down whatever manager you have and make your life a living hell  _ smile. The carny set three foam balls molded to look superficially like baseballs on the counter. Stan flicked the faux-stitch relief with his thumbnail.

“Awfully soft, aren’t they?”

The carny made an ambiguous noise.

Stan turned to the twins. “Kids, it’s time I teach you about carnival games.”

“What, that they’re all fixed?” Dipper said.

“Oh, undoubtedly. But the trick is to know just how they’re...fixed!” With that final word, Stan turned and belted out a fastball. If the ball had not been foam and the cans not rigged with weights, perhaps it would have done something besides make a pathetic  _ whump  _ noise and bounce harmlessly off.

“That’s one,” the carny said without looking up from his magazine.

Stan felt his chin thoughtfully.

“You see kids,” he said, “the first one’s always a dud. You have to get the lay of the land, test the waters, sniff out the buffalo.”

The twins made equally puzzled faces.

“The second one’s always—KYAAAAAAH!” 

That pitch went wild, missing the cans completely. There was the tinkle of broken glass.

“That’s two,” the carny said, turning a page.

Stan shifted his eyepatch to the other eye and turned to the kids. “Sorry, Mabel. I guess I'm a little out of practice. I forgot, you have to sneak up on victory—” he nonchalantly tossed the ball sideways without looking, hitting a broom leaned up against the booth wall and scattering the cans, “—in this line of work.”

The twins gaped. Then Mabel broke into a cheer.

“Grunkle Stan, you did it! You won me the pegasus!”

“Actually,” the carny butted in, “he won you this fake mustache. The price board is up there.” He thumbed at a sign nearly hidden by hanging stuffed animals. The price for the pegasus numbered in the low thousands.

Stan gave a light little chuckle.

“That’s funny. Because I have my senior’s discount card with me right now.”

Brass knuckles clattered on the booth counter.

 

“—and I'm going to name you Pegasoos and you’ll sleep in the special place on my bed for a few months and then I’ll have to go back to the rotation system I use for the other stuffed animals so they don’t get jealous—” Mabel babbled unceasingly.

Stan and Dipper strolled on behind her.

“She really is happy about that  _ hecho en Mexico _ piece of fluff?” Stan said with a grin on his face.

“Until the next obnoxious toy comes along, yeah.” Dipper had a similar grin on his face.

“Good. You get it for her next time, alright? You keep her happy, Dipper.” 

Dipper looked up. Grunkle Stan had gained that faraway look again, strolling along with his hands in his pockets.

“You’ll have to tell me how,” Dipper said, “because I'm not good at these sorts of things.”

That brought Stan back to the present. “Two things kid: one's practice. I grew up near a boardwalk filled with every breed of shyster under the sun. You have to let them take your money, at least at first, because it’s the only way to learn.”

They had arrived at the front of the trailers again. The mummy had not gone, but in true California fashion it had been tagged several times.

“And the second?”

Stan lifted up the eyepatch and winked. “Hidden mirror, kid.”

 

“—but of course, the portal was too valuable to shut down completely,” Ford was saying, “I mean, that’s my life’s work.”

He leaned forward, as if listening to some inaudible reply. He laughed a little.

“You’ve got that right! And in such a short time, too. I can’t believe it took me so long to see it. Now that I’ve shed that deadbeat brother of mine, I can make proper headway.”

He listened to another silent response. “Yes,  _ thirty years _ , can you believe that? Well, what he did in thirty years, I’ll do in thirty seconds. And this time, I’ll do it right.”

He slipped on black gloves and put his hands on the lever. Behind him, the reassembled portal glowed blue-white.

“!deerg yb tsuj nevird s'yelnatS roop ,deed yb ton dna htrib yb sniwt er'yeht ,sllab gniworht yb emit sllik yelnatS,sllaf eht ni enola syalp drofnatS elihW” Ford laughed.

On the fold-out couch, Stanley opened his eyes.


	5. For want of communication...

_Dear Great-Uncle Ford,_

_Well, school is pretty much how it was when we left. Except everyone’s bigger, I guess. Mabel has a crush on this guy who looks alot like this guy Mermando, only he has no fish tail. She’s dealing with the disappointment pretty well, I guess, although I keep catching her trying to hang a seashell necklace on him._

_Science is great, we’re finally getting into the fun part of physics. I aced the magnetism part of our last test. I told the teacher I had a pretty good summer tutor._

_Grunkle Stan is fine. I know you didn’t ask about him, but I would want to know how my sibling is. He’s teaching Mabel how to count cards, but I guess it doesn’t really work when you’re playing Go Fish._

_Keeping it weird,  
_ _Dipper_

 

Ford smiled and uncapped his pen.

_Dear Dipper_ , he wrote.

_I’m glad to hear about you and Mabel. I am still settling into town. It’s just as well Stan is making himself at home there, because we really lead two separate lives now. That may seem odd to you, but trust me, when you grow up you’ll see it’s all for the best._

_—Stanford.  
_ _Gaiylfn rvtflsie. Nsgocpe oinfinr. Msyu iso._

 

He nodded to himself and stuck a stamp on the postcard.

The mystery shack was once again beginning to look like his home, with all the scientific paraphernalia dragged back out of storage(or in one case from under the couch, where it had replaced a missing leg.)

The portal gun had been a quick prototype, something he tossed off just to clear the cobwebs out. It wasn't even that convenient because he had to travel beyond the town boundaries to use it. Now he had to find a way to destroy the rift once and for all. He had a house empty of distractions and a clear head. All he had to do was relax and let the science happen.

Ford opened his front door and took a deep breath of evergreen air.

“Hey Mr. Pines!”

There was the wet splatter of half a dozen eggs. Grin frozen on his face, Ford slammed the door and went to go change.

 

So Stan had gone down to sleaze around California? Good. Bill Cipher hadn’t reared his head yet, but Ford knew it was coming. And Stan was probably the weakest link in the chain keeping him at bay. What would stop him from bargaining away the world for a pile of money? God, just the thought of those two making a deal gave him an ulcer.

Ford traveled to the cave again. The petroglyphs were still as vivid as the day they had been painted. He set his lantern on a rock and gazed up at them.

Shadows danced on the hollows of Bill’s triangular form. The same blood-red warning crawled on the stone beneath him. The wheel of symbols he had never been able to decipher still encircled the wall. He spent some time working in journal #4 when his phone went off.

Ford dropped his pen and clutched his heart. The sound, a pleasant electric _ting_ in his lab, was magnified to terrifying proportions by the rock. He took it out and held it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Grunkle Ford?”

The connection was fizzy, but he could tell Mabel’s voice even if it had been filtered through a thousand dimensions.

“Hi, sweetie. How are you?”

“Oh, fine.” She sounded distracted. “Grunkle Ford, I have to tell you something.”

“Anything, of course.”

“I know what you said. To Dipper.”

Ford flushed in the dark.

“All of it. How you said having a twin is smothering. You told him to leave me.”

“N-n-now Mabel, that doesn’t mean—”

“I’m not mad,” she cut in. She really didn’t sound angry. “I forgive you, Grunkle Ford. I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

The years that had dropped off his life grew back. He let out a breath.

“That’s not why I called. You remember when you both told us about growing up?”

“Sure do.”

“Well...I just wanna say, we’re really not like you two.” A moment of empty static. “I mean, it’s not the same as you guys. If I ever messed things up for Dipper, no matter how bad, I don’t think my dad would send me away.” Another pause. “And like how you were the smart one, he was the strong one. Our parents don’t talk about us like that, like there’s only one thing we’ll ever be good at.”

Ford laughed. “I think calling us _the smart one_ and _the strong one_ were just dad’s ways of telling us apart.” The corners of his eyes were oddly moist. “Did I ever tell you he was only expecting one Stan? He didn’t want to change his plan when we were born.”

Mabel didn’t laugh.

“Grunkle Ford, I think a lot of what you two have against each other is from other people, not you. And maybe...with a little space...you two can talk it out? So I want you to have his number.”

“His number? Who’s number?”

“Grunkle Stan’s. My dad fixed him up, got him on the family plan. Even if you don’t call him right away, I want you to have it.”

The unasked question hung in the air between them. Ford looked up at Bill’s single, intractable eye.

“Sure sweetie,” he sighed.

He could have lied, pretended to take the number without writing it down, but then he would never be able to look Mabel in the eye again.

“Thank you, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said, as if he had been the one to do all the work.

“Hey, my funny girl’s being serious, I have to listen,” he said.

After she hung up, he held the phone against his chest. The paper crumpled sweatily in his hand.

 

The whispers started in again. He tried to ignore them like the bully who sits behind you in class and jabs you in the arm with a pencil while the teacher isn’t looking, with about as much success. To pass the time(and bring in some badly-needed cash) he shipped off a few patents. Then he loaded up the last remnants of the mystery shack, all the taxidermy chimeras and plaster fossils and leaky snowglobes, and drove to the town dump. He shoveled them out by the ton, grunting with effort. As a skull with a clumsily-drilled third eyesocket fell from the trailer, he heard something.

The strains of a banjo song.

Ford dropped the shovel from clammy hands.

There was a shanty in the middle of the dump, surrounded by what would seem like spare parts to anyone with no working knowledge of robotology. The word ‘McSuckit’ was just barely visible on the side, as if someone had unsuccessfully tried to scrub it off. Ford crept closer, keeping hidden behind large objects.

A rat burst out of an old toaster oven and screeched off into the night. The plucking stopped. There was the reverb of a stringed instrument being set down, then short, angry footsteps as the curtain that served as a front door was pushed aside.

Ford felt his face drain of color.

Fiddleford was in bad shape. He really did look like an old man, older than anyone his age had a right to be. He also looked a few mililiters short of an erlenmeyer flask.

McGucket shook his fist. “Dad-gummit, you kids stay out of my yard! Just what is it about my forbidden pile of mystery intrigues you so?”

Ford sank lower behind the washing machine he had chosen as cover.

McGucket looked around. “Well? Any of ya’s got anything to say?”

Looking down at his magnet gun, Ford was silent.

Fiddleford snorted and did a hambone that said _kids these days_ in the tympanic code he and Ford had devised in school. Then he shuffled back into his shack.

After a long time, Ford crept out of his hiding space. He tossed the last few items in the junk and then drove away. He did not look back. He did not look in the mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote these last two chapters back-to-back, and I sort of see them as the A and B plot of an episode.  
> The cipher he uses at the end of the postcard is a transposition cipher...and that's all I'll tell you. ;)


	6. For want of sleep...

*beep*

_“Ha-ha-hey there...Stanley. It’s Ford. Mabel gave me this number and suggested I call you. So I'm calling. Um, I'm fine. How are you?...oh right, this is a message. Give...give me a call if you feel like it. The kids, uh, the kids can show you how.”_

*beep*

_“Hi Stanley, it’s Stanford, your brother. Listen, that lady at the diner keeps asking for your number. What should I tell her? Also, she told me she ‘hates to see me leave but loves to watch me go.’ What does that mean? Is that some kind of insult? Sorry to bug you like this. I won’t call you too much.”_

*beep*

_“Stan, did you do something to the teenage population of this town? They appear to hate me for no readily apparent reason. Every time I go out, I'm pelted with eggs. Is this some local custom that sprang up while I was gone? Because I don’t care for it.”_

*beep*

_“Oh my god, Stanley, I just heard this song, ‘Blanchin’? It’s awful, I mean, it’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard. It’s worse than the time I found a multidimensional hypercat harmonizing with itself. How did you deal with it when it first came out? It’s stuck in my head and the memory gun won’t work on me!”_

*beep*

_“Stan, a gentleman was just here asking about some pugs. Is that code for anything or did he mean the actual dog? Anyway, he he wouldn’t believe I wasn’t you. He pulled a knife on me so I used the magnet gun to disarm him. It was a little like that time you hit Crampelter’s switchblade right out of his hand, remember that? ...Anyway, if you could put a stop to this, it would be much appreciated.”_

*beep*

_“Stan?....Stan?....Stan?...Stan, please pick up….Stan?...Stanley?...Stan, I know you’re th—”_

Stan set the phone down and sighed.

 

“Well kids, it’s been quite a time, but these old bones need to get on the road.” Stan gave Mabel a hug. “The open highways are calling to me, and I can smell the money-wind blowing my way.” He illustrated it with a hand.

“We’re going to have a visit from the police, aren’t we?” Dipper deadpanned.

“Well that, and my back can’t take any more nights on your couch.” Stan put a hand to his spine and winced. He stepped forward and ruffled Dipper’s hair beneath his hat. “You remember what I taught you, little man. Take care of your sister for me.”

Dipper took it with good humor. He asked, “Grunkle Stan, will you promise me something?”

“I see no way this could backfire. Sure. Anything.”

“Please go check up on Grunkle Ford.” Stan rolled his eyes. “I mean it. He’s starting to worry me.”

Dipper held up a postcard. It held Ford’s neat, even script, detailing the weather and scientific pursuits. Stan snorted.

“Looks fine to me.”

Dipper clicked on his blacklight. Jagged, uneven text was barely visible in the strong sunlight, but even then they could make out ‘danger’ ‘Bill’ and ‘beware’.

Stan sighed. “Once again, he needs me to save his hash. Listen, kids, if you give someone everything they want as soon as they ask for it, it’ll make them lazy and ungrateful. Just ask all those poor people who overthrew Russia’s monarchy.”

“Grunkle Stan, I’d love to unpack everything wrong with that statement, but I'm serious,” Dipper said. “Bill Cipher’s bad news. The last time we thought we beat him, he just went into hiding. He’s up to something big, I can feel it.”

“Well why don’t _you_ go instead? You two are science buddies, after all.”

Dipper looked down. “...Because I'm a screw-up, alright? I nearly let Bill win, multiple times.”

Stan looked haunted. He put his hand on Dipper’s shoulder.

“Kid...you are not a screw-up. I know what a screw-up is, and it’s someone who runs from his mistakes without fixing them. Don’t let me hear you call yourself that again, all right?”

Dipper managed a small smile. Mabel tugged on Stan’s sleeve.

“So you’ll check on Ford, right? He’s our Grunkle, too.”

Stan looked from one face to the other. He sighed, closing his eyes.

“Okay.”

 

Ford tossed and turned on the couch.

He couldn’t sleep in Stan’s bed anymore. He just couldn’t.

The whispers were getting more frequent. They usually waited until right before he dropped into REM before starting up. The sound invaded his dreams, making him feel followed wherever he went.

He was back in a dorm with Fiddleford (whispers) when suddenly Fiddleford clutched his head and screamed, ( _whispers_ ) withering away right before Ford’s eyes.

He was on a boat ( _whispers_ ) alone in the middle of the lake when the water ( _whispers_ ) was churned up by something impossibly huge.

He ( _whispers_ ) was all alone (whispers) walking down an endless hall ( _whispers_ ) and there was something behind him ( _whispers_ ) something following right behind him and ( _whispers_ ) he could feel its breath ( _whisperwhisperwhisper_ ) and it was catching up…

He fell from the couch, landing hard on his hip. The impact jarred the single snowglobe that had escaped his clean-up so that it tumbled from the coffee table and hit him on the chest. Ford gasped, unsuccessfully trying to kick away the sheets wrapping his legs.

As he did every night, Ford got up and made the tortuous journey down into the belly of the lab. He input the 27-digit code to his safe, and picked up the only object inside. As it did every night, the rift containment sphere looked solid and strong and whole. And Ford held it for a while, trembling slightly as he looked at the madness throbbing in its depths, before setting it back again and shutting the safe.

Then he made the long, cold journey back upstairs, where he settled on the couch again and tried to get at least a little sleep before dawn lightened the sky.

 

After a few day’s journey (and a close call at the state border) Stan parked the Emporium in front of the former mystery shack and stood feet apart, fists on his hips.

The old place looked a little worse for wear. Ford had taken down several load-bearing signs, the roof sagged even more as a result. The termite colony had erected a series of defensive structures on the east side of the house, apparently Ford hadn’t been conducting the appeasement sacrifices in his absence.

Stan sighed and took a step forward.

“Don’t you take another step!”

Stan halted in his tracks, heart thudding.

“If you kids are thinking about egging this house again, think twice! I’ve got an arsenal and I will make you rue the day you thought you could egg me! Do you know who I am? I’m the guy who’s gonna _burn your house down_ ! With the _eggs_ ! I will engineer a combustible egg that _burns your house down_!”

Stan sighed and lowered his hands. “It’s me, Ford.”

Ford’s disheveled head popped out from behind an upturned couch. His wild eyes had dark bags beneath them, and his glasses had been broken and taped crooked since they last met.

“Stanley,” he said in a much gentler tone, “ohmigosh, it’s you! Have you come to help me wage war against the teenagers?”

Stan carefully picked his way across the yard. The ground had been threaded with tripwires. “That’s a losing battle, my friend. The only victory is to watch them get older and become the very thing they hate.”

He held a hand out to Ford. Ford rose, shedding the blanket he’d draped around his shoulders. He was wearing a greasy, stained shirt. His knobby knees showed beneath his briefs.

“Erm, Stanford? Where are your pants?”

“Decoy.” Ford pointed to a dummy stuffed with corn husks that had a paper plate face. Stan coughed into his hand.

“It’s, um...nice. Say Stanford, do you have any coffee?”

“Just drank the last of it,” Ford chattered, “can’t afford sleep right now, bro, not with the forces of darkness waging war behind my back.”

“That Cipher guy again, huh?”

“I was talking about the teenagers.”

Stan put a cautious hand on his brother’s shaky shoulders. “Look, whatever it is, it can wait. Let’s get you showered, shaved, and…undo whatever it is that’s making your pupils do that.”

“Actually I prefer to burn the hair…” Ford said as the door shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew, what a week! back to the regular update schedule next week, because if I keep this pace up my brain will turn to slush.  
> and no, that pupil comment is not a reference to Bill, it just means Ford's been overdoing it.


	7. For want of an apology...

Ford cracked the shades in the kitchen and peered out.

“I’m telling you, Stanley, it’s all part of some...conspiracy. Everyone in town gives me dirty looks and those damn teenagers won’t stop egging me!”

“Yeah, that’s a little crazy, even for you.” Stan was sautéing brown meat in a pan. He cracked several eggs into the mix and scrambled them with the meat. He divided the food between two plates and put a piece of toast with the crusts cut off on either plate. Ford received his with a dopey grin.

“Just like mom used to make.”

“Wow, you actually complimented me. You _must_ be loopy.”

Ford fell on the food like a wolverine on a marshmallow peep. Stan watched with alarm for a moment before shrugging and starting into his own plate.

Outside there was the screech of brakes and the patter of something wet hitting the house. Both brothers ignored it.

Ford finished and pushed his plate away, gasping like he’d run a marathon. Stan took his time, sipping the water he’d run through his brother’s grounds a second time.

Ford was twitchy, constantly looking around the room. Often, his eyes would dip to the floor, and then suddenly raise back up as if he’d been caught at something.

Stan finished his coffee and wiped the ring from his upper lip. “Okay, what is _up_ with you? You’re even worse than the last time I came here.”

Ford looked up irritably, as if Stan had interrupted him at something. “Cipher, Stanley. He’s back. He’s a threat to the continued survival of the universe and he’s back.”

“Oh good, you’re back to speaking in riddles. Why don’t we skip the part where someone gets pushed into a portal and get right to the end?” Stan stood up from the table.

“Wait, Stanley. I need you.” Ford grabbed onto his lapels. “I can’t trust anyone here.”

Stan hit his hand away. “I’ve heard this song before. That’s my cue.”

“Stanley! You’re not just going to abandon me, are you?”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Ford looked confused. The very sight of it made Stan’s blood boil.

“I’d love to help with your nerdy sciency stuff, but I’m too busy doing what I do best: shystering. I’m sure I'd  just get in your way and ruin things again.”

“Look, Stanley, I made a mistake.”

“That’s a rarity. I wish I could stuff and mount it, I'd show it all over the midwest. ‘ _Stanford Filbrick  Pines’ mistake_.’”

“What do you want from me!” Ford suddenly shouted. “I am begging, pleading for your help! Do  you want me to get to my knees? I’ll do it!”

“I want an _apology_ _!_ ” Stan shouted back, so loudly that Ford backed away. “I want to hear that you’re sorry for sending me away from the only home I’ve known for the last thirty years! I want sorry for putting the children in danger! I want you sorry for making Mabel feel like she’s worthless!”

Ford stepped back, blinking.

“Oh yeah. Think I didn’t know? All that sweet talk to Dipper about how you two are misunderstood geniuses? Thought you’d just lure him away and leave Mabel all alone. You are _priceless_ , Stanford Pines,” Stan spat.

When Ford spoke, it was in a very diminished voice. “Stan, what I did...I did out of concern.”

Stan snorted.

“Dipper was growing up without anyone in his corner, I couldn’t let that happen.”

“He had _me_ in his corner,” Stan growled, “ _you_ had me in your corner. I don’t count for nothing?”

Ford looked to the side and coughed.

“Well?”

“‘I don’t count for _anything_.’”

Stan’s face hardened.

“‘ _I don’t count for nothing_ ’ is a double negative. Grammar, Stanley.”

Stan was still as his face flushed a deep crimson.

Ford put a hand on his shoulder. “I think—”

Stan roared and picked  Ford up completely, throwing him across the table, scattering cups and plates. Ford slid and fell over the other side, landing first on a chair, then rolling off to the floor. His brow had a gash that leaked blood into his eye. There wasn’t any time to attend to it, because Stanley was coming around the side of the table with his hands balled into fists. Ford’s dimension-hopping instincts kicked in and he got to his hands and knees, taking Stan’s kick to the ribs with a slight feint so the hit didn’t connect as hard as it could have. He pushed off with his hands so that Stan’s next kick hit the table.  Before Stan could retract his leg,  Ford grabbed it, digging his fingers into both sides of Stan’s knee. He pulled. Stan went forward, catching his weight on his elbows on the tabletop. Ford used that momentum to pull himself up. He landed a sloppy punch to the back of Stan’s head, throwing him forward and making his fez tumble to the table. Stan’s glasses pitched forward and he fumbled at them, cursing. Ford took the opportunity to land a few more punches on his back and ribs. The air huffed out of Stan’s lungs and he threw a lucky elbow back that caught Ford’s ear. Ford spun with the pain.

Stan hefted himself and threw another tackle. Pain had slowed him, and Ford had time to dodge this one. Stan crashed into the stove where he had been cooking their food only minutes before. The recognition was a bolt of sanity. Ford went after Stan, hugging to his back, pinning his arms against his sides.

“Wait,” he gasped, “Stanley, wait.”

Stan growled, planting his feet and trying to throw his weight back.

“I’m sorry. Do you hear me, Stanley? I’m sorry for everything I did.”

The tension went out of Stan like a snapped guitar wire. He sagged in his brother’s arms.

Ford pressed his head forward so his chin sat on Stan’s shoulder.

“I do things without thinking sometimes….a lot, actually. I have no excuse for that, because I’m supposed to be the thinker. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you were unnecessary. You are very necessary. You’re important to me, Stanley, and not just because I need you to do something.”

Stan was staring out the window, blinking heavily. His voice was thick as he said, “not-crying break?”

Ford let go of him. “Yeah.”

Both brothers went to opposite corners to sniff suspiciously for a minute.

“Okay,” Stan said after clearing his throat fruitlessly a few times, “lemme see this new horrible thing you’re talking about.”

Ford approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. “All right, but… I want you to take a moment to prepare yourself mentally.”

Stan scoffed. “Come on. I think I know a little about mysteries by now. I’m sure it won’t throw me.”

 

They stood together in the underground lab.

“I am completely thrown by this,” Stan said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh those boys and their fighting. don't worry, later they'll laugh and cry and braid each other's hair.  
> special thanks to everyone who's left comments so far. you're all so lovely. I'd hug you physically if I could.


	8. For want of the mystery shack...

The rift throbbed angrily in its containment sphere. Ford looked at it with a horrified fascination. Stan looked from the rift to Ford, and back again.

“This new lava lamp is neat-looking, but we’ve been sitting here for five minutes in total silence and you still haven’t told me what for.”

Ford blinked, coming back from the depths. “This is a dimensional rift, Stanley. When you reactivated the portal—”

Stan grunted.

“—which I am thankful for—”

Stan smiled.

“—this happened. It’s a ticking time bomb, Stanley.”

“And this Cipher guy, he’s after it, right?”

Ford turned to him. “Yes. that’s why I called you back. I was worried he’d try to get to me through you. He has this...way about him, he can be very charming.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “So what? He’s a triangle! That’s not even my favorite shape!”

Ford had to smile.

“Be that as it may, he’s very cunning and malicious. As he exists now, he has little influence on the physical world. He’d need to take over a body, but once he did that, there would be little to stop him from getting the sphere. The barrier around the shack will keep him away, but we need to destroy this, Stanley. Once and for all.”

Stan fished in his pocket for a moment. He brought out his lighter and flicked the wheel.

Ford chuckled. “Sadly no. If only it was easy as burning book paper. The rift needs to be neutralized, but I’ve hit a dead end. I need help.”

“Well I don’t see what I could do,” Stanley said, lifting one corner of his fez to scratch at his hair. “You’re the one with the brains. I’ve got that other thing.”

“Yes, yes,”Ford said, hastily grabbing Stan’s fist. “I know all that. There’s one person in Gravity Falls I could collaborate with. But…” he looked off to the side.

“Don’t tell me: he wants nothing to do with you?”

Ford sighed.

“Well, looks like it’s up to Stan to smooth the waters.” Stan cracked his knuckles. “Don’t worry, after five minutes with me, he’ll be begging to help.”

Ford caught his fist again. “No, no, I don’t want you to strongarm him. I just want you to persuade him for me.”

Ford looked at the rift.

“Okay, maybe a little strongarming. If he’s difficult.”

 

Stanley unhitched the mummy trailer. “The dump ain’t that far. We could walk.”

Ford squatted to help him. “I don’t like to walk through town anymore. I think—”

He broke off, suddenly tense.

A van came squealing down the road. Loud, teenagery music blared through its open windows.

Stan’s face darkened and he stepped to one side of the trailer. Ford stood up hastily. “Stanley—”

The van raced closer. The driver was re-calculating its course to take itself past the trailers when Stan stepped out in front, both arms thrown wide. The driver, a sullen young man in a black hoodie, hit the brake hard. His passengers collectively thumped their heads.

“Seatbelts, you idiots!” Stan roared.

The driver stared from one twin to the other, rubbing the eye not covered by hair. His passengers were quicker to recover.

A girl with violet hair opened the side door. She had her eggs at the ready.

“This is for putting Wendy out of a job, you old fart!” She called.

Stan power-walked to the door and caught her hand. “That’s _enough_ , Tambry.”

She looked at Stan like she’d seen a ghost.

“M-Mr. Pines?” She seemed to shrink a few inches. “You know who I am?”

“Sure, I know all you knuckleheads.” Stan addressed the van. “Wendy never shut up about you. She was always sneaking out to do stupid junk with you idiots. You were her best friends.”

A fierce light came on in Tambry’s eyes. “Then why did you fire her? Her stupid dad sent her to stupid logging camp and now we never see her!”

Understanding washed over Stan’s face. Ford felt a barb of shame prick him.

“Look,” Stan started, “my brainiac brother dismantled the mystery shack, true. But that’s no reason to take it out on him. Have you been egging Manly Dan’s house at all?”

They all found something more interesting to look at.

“That’s what I thought. You never pick on someone who looks like they can fight back. Well I’m telling you kids to stop picking on him.”

The boy behind the wheel sneered. “Why should we do that?”

Stan suddenly found a handful of the kid’s sweatshirt. “Because _I_ can fight back.”

The kid eeped.

Stan nodded as if satisfied and let go of his shirt. The boy sheepishly put the van into reverse. Both brothers watched them make the long journey back.

Stan walked over to the trailer where Ford had taken cover and held his hand out. Ford looked at it.

“Come on,” Stan said, “it’s time to stop hiding out behind things. Let’s go get McGucket.”

 

“—so even though we divorced again, I still say it only counts as one. I mean, the same two people were married, right?”

“Jeez, Stanley. Next you’ll be telling me you got her name tattooed on your arm.”

Stan hunched into the steering wheel. “I did no such thing.”

Ford whistled suspiciously. He had a bandaid over his left eye and his knuckles still stung, but he was in the best humor he’d been all week. Stanley coming back had made everything normal again...well, semi-normal, anyway.

“So what happened to Soos since I was gone?”

Ford let that grammatical crime go and replied, “not sure. I see him lurking around town sometimes. He keeps giving me kicked-puppy eyes.”

“Not surprised. The shack was everything to him. I’ve been employing him since he was just knee-high to a sasquatch.”

“Your tendency to employ child labor aside,” Ford said, “it was just a job. You’d think he’d find something else to do.”

Stan shot him a glance as he turned the blinker on. “You really don’t get it, do you? The shack wasn’t just a job, it was a fixture of this town. When the pool’s closed and the theater's not showing anything good, you had the mystery shack. I took everything scary about this town and put it into something people could understand. I made it funny. Took away some of the bite.”

Ford looked at him, awed. “I never thought of it like that.”

Stan felt his chin. “Neither did I. I’ve literally never thought of it like that until I said it just now.”

Ford abruptly broke into laughter. “That’s our Stanley.”

They both laughed as the car pulled in the main dump entrance.

Both brothers got out cautiously. Stan stretched his legs as Ford examined the shanty.

“He doesn’t appear to be home. Blast, he could be anywhere in this dump.”

“Hold your horses, bro.” Stan held up a hand. “If I know my hillbillies, he should be—”

“Times-salutations, elder Pines twins.”


	9. For want of a meeting...

Stan dipped a hand into his jacket pocket. Ford drew his coat away from the magnet-gun holster.

A round man stepped out of thin air, his suit fluctuating with various patterns before settling into dull silver.

“I come bearing grave time-news, my time-friends.”

Both brothers glared at him.

“Something terrible has happened to the time-stream, something that may cause irreparable time-damage if not stopped in time.”

They still glared.

“Ha-ha, w-we haven’t really met, have we?” The man grinned and took a step forward, hand out. “I-I-I mean we haven’t really interacted before this poi—”

Ford had the gun out. “Get _back_. Stanley, whatever you do, don’t shake his hand!”

“No problem.” Stan looked with disgust at his sweaty palms.

“Y-y-y-you’re making a mistake! I’m Blendin Blandin, time—”

“You say _time_ again I am taking the knucks to your knees, little man” Stan threatened.

“Oh s-s-sure, threaten me, Mr…. _fez_. What’s the matter, was a sombrero too dignified?”

“That’s rich talk for a man with a moustache on his scalp,” Stan bellowed.

Blendin began stammering furiously, but Ford stuck the gun in his face. The color he had gained since Stanley’s arrival had bled away, he looked haggard and haunted again.

“Take off your glasses,” he said, “let me see your eyes.”

“Th-these aren’t mere glasses, these are time-gogg—”

“What did I say about saying _time_ , little man!”

“Stanley, if you would—”

“Y-you two are worse than Dipper and Mabel, at least they have the excuse of adolescence!”

“Let me see your eyes right _now_!” Ford snarled.

Both Stan and Blendin looked alarmed.

“Uh, bro, you sure you don’t want me to do this? I thought it was my job to strongarm.”

“You don’t understand.” Ford’s voice shook. His hands shook. “He’s been tormenting me for so long. He’s gone after my _family_. He has to be stopped.”

Sweat broke out on Blendin’s forehead. With his hands up, he continued backing away.

“Stay where you are!” Ford spat. He followed Blendin’s retreating steps. “You take off those glasses and you show me you’re not afraid to face me in daylight.”

“...I'm sorry, but I really have to time-leave,” Blendin said. Quick as a flash, he hit his watch and teleported.

Ford’s eyes went wide. “No. NO. Don’t you do this to me again!”

He fired wild, hitting a car balanced on top of a pile. It creaked into motion like an avalanche, barreling right for him.

Stanley bellowed, “Stanford!” He dove and caught his brother under the ribs. They both wound up face-down in a pile of old magazines as the car hit the spot they had been standing in only a moment before.

Stan raised his head. Ford’s eyes had gone wide, his pupils contracted to pinpricks as he stared into the open air.

“I-I lost him,” he whispered. “He was right there. I had him and I lost him.”

Stan put an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, Sixter, it’ll be okay. If he showed up once, he’s gotta show up again, right?”

“You don’t understand!” Ford shouted. “Everytime he shows up, someone new has to suffer! At least when it was just me, it was all right, but now—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Stan said, righting himself. “It is _not_ okay for you to get harassed by the eye of providence, okay? Especially not when I'm around!”

Ford’s shoulders slumped. “Stanley...I don’t know if that’s entirely true. I mean, he’s a homicidal demon and you’re...you.”

Stan slugged him lightly on the shoulder. “I know. It’s almost unfair, right? Maybe I should give him a head start.”

Ford smiled. It was weak, but it was a smile. He accepted his brother’s hand up.

“But if Cipher was here, that means Fiddleford might not…”

“Whoa, lemme stop you there.” Stan put up a hand. “Let’s not throw in the towel before we see the first punch land. We can look through the dump for McGucket and just see if he isn’t here before we panic, alright?”

Ford sighed. He fiddled with the dial on his gun and aimed it at the car, levitating it back to its original place.

“I suppose.”

 

“Imagine, all this time I was living in town with one of your nerdy friends!” Stan stepped gingerly over a skeletal mattress. “I could’ve asked him for help, shaved a few years off your sentence.”

“Well, Stanley, even if you had, there’s no guarantee he would’ve talked to you. I seem to be better at making enemies than friends.” Ford glumly peered into a totaled truck cab.

Stan looked at him. “Come on...it can’t be that bad, right? I mean, I’ve spent the past forty years ripping off everyone and their mother for a living.”

“And people still like you, Stanley. You know what they say when I go into town? ‘ _Where’s Stan?_ ’ ‘ _When’s Stan coming back?_ ’ ‘ _Tell him to get his perky butt in the diner._ ’”

Stan laughed. “Come on...really?”

“I lived here first, but you made more of a home here than I ever did. I barely spoke to anyone, I only went to town when I had to. It must’ve been easy to pretend to be me.”

Both brothers let the comment sink into the air between them.

“...it wasn’t me though,” Stan said quietly, “it was never Stanley Pines, known scammer. It was Stanford Pines, respected scientist-turned-sideshow-barker.”

Ford sighed. “Maybe it was both of us. Always has been, anyway.”

And, for no reason other than they could, both brothers stopped and put their arms on each other’s shoulders.

“We've been canvassing this place for hours,” Stan said, “I don’t think we’re going to find him. Not like this, anyway.”

Ford took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Even if he was here, he’s probably hiding. I give up.”

As Stan started up the car, he squinted at the shanty. “Funny. I wonder what he was doing out here.”

“Probably working to replace the memory gun I have.” Ford rested his hand on his chin, looking out the window. “Can’t say I blame him. The years have not been kind. Hell, if I could use that myself…”

Stan put his arm over the seat as he backed up. “Don’t even think like that. There’s actually useful stuff in your head. Now take someone like me, who’s been up to no good for thirty years—”

“You could start with Marilyn,” Ford put in slyly.

“Yikes! Don’t even joke about that, I’d probably end up marrying her again!”

They laughed as they made a u-turn onto the main road.

Stan drove through town, cruised, really, and looked out the window.

It hadn’t changed a bit since he’d left. The same motley assortment of weirdos and losers cluttered the street. Stan took a deep breath. He really fit in here.

As they took a sharp right, he turned to say something to Ford.

Ford was passed out, cheek pillowed on his arm as the breeze ruffled his hair.

Stan smiled and kept quiet. He took the scenic route home.


	10. For want of understanding...

Ford took a few hour’s nap. Stan cleaned up the broken dishes and snooped around. Most of his junk was gone, probably back at the dump. Ah well, nothing Soos couldn’t fix.

Soos…

Stan thought of the large, enthusiastic manchild. He had always been so eager to help, no matter how dirty the job. Ford just didn’t know the value of people when it really came down to it.

Stan found the telephone and put in a call. It rang exactly once before abuelita picked it up.

“Hello, Mrs. Ramirez? Cómo está, señora bonita?”

“Señor pines? The one who fire my Soos? I spit on your grave.”

“No, no, no,” Stan said before she could hang up, “that was my brother, Stan _ford_. This is Stan _ley_.”

There was a pause.

“It sounds like you jerk abuelita around. But mi precioso want to speak to you, so I give him the phone anyway.” There was a muffled bellow as the phone changed hands.

Heavy breathing clouded the other end of the line.

“Mr. Pines? I thought I’d never see you again! Mr. Pines fired me even though I told him ‘Mr. Pines wants me to—’”

“I know, Soos,” Stan interjected, “look, my brother’s a little...off his rocker. I came to town to look after him for a while. But my trailers haven’t even been unhitched yet, and my traveling weird emporium—”

“Weird emporium?” You could practically hear the sunny smile spread over Soos’s face. “Wow! Like a traveling mystery shack! Mr. Pines, that’s amazing! D-do you need, like a relief driver or anything like that?”

Stan’s heart broke just a little. “No, Soos, but...tell you what. If you want to...take care of the trailers...you know, while I'm in town?”

There was the click of a dropped telephone and the far-away little girl scream of a happy Soos. Stan smiled puzzledly.

 

Ford walked downstairs, hair still wet from the shower, to find Stan cooking dinner.

“Twice in a day? Stanley, you spoil me.”

“It ain’t fancy cuisine, but it’ll keep you alive.” Stan glanced dubiously down at the pan. “Probably.”

Ford laughed awkwardly. They both looked at other things.

Stan poked at the frying pan. “Since...since I guess I'll be staying here a while, I let Soos take the trailers. The big guy practically exploded with happiness. Tried to tell me how he’s been spending his time playing Princess Panty Fighter or something weird like that.”

Ford wasn’t listening. He was staring out the window with a drawn look.

“His abuelita hexed me until I agreed to let him run the trailer for me. Took five minutes of talking before she took the cow skull off her head.”

The meat hissed in the pan. Outside, night was falling. Pretty soon it would start snowing, Stan realized. The woods would fill up with white, just like they had when he’d first come here.

“She was pretty sore about when I pulled in the driveway,” he said cautiously, watching Ford, “but I told her to replace the begonias and send me the **bill** —”

Ford jerked as if coming out of a deep sleep. “Bill? What?”

Stan shook his head and turned off the burner. “You’re not right, Sixter. You’re just thinking yourself in circles, now. You need a break.”

“Break?”Ford laughed brittlely. “Only you would say something like that, at a time like this. Break? I need to double-down, work twice as hard.” He picked up a mug and took a sip. “I worked my way through college the same way, I can do it again.”

“Ford, there’s nothing in that mug.”

Ford looked at the cup in his hand. “So there is,” he said in a wondering tone.

Stan approached him and gingerly put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, I know it’s the last thing you want to hear from me right now, but maybe you should give the science stuff a rest. Just for a few days.”

Ford sneered. “Of course. Now that you’re back, you want to reassert yourself into my life. ‘ _Just take it easy, Stanford. Kick back and let life pass you by. The fate of the world may hang in the balance, but hey, Ducktective is on_!’”

Stan’s face resettled into hard lines. “I am _trying_ ,” he squeezed Ford’s arm for emphasis, “to look after you. The only reason I came up here is because the kids asked. What’s so bad you have to complain to a thirteen year old kid and not your fully grown brother?”

“You’re not fully grown, you’re a teenager in an old man’s body! What about the time I caught you eating ice cream for dinner?”

“That was because we were out of popcorn—” Stan dropped the spatula and took a deep breath to compose himself. “Look, we’re getting off-point here. You’re a danger to yourself and others when you’re like this. You’re not _well_ , Stanford.”

Ford’s face twisted in betrayal. “No, I'm not. I haven’t been since you got here.”

“Since before. Or are you telling me invisible ink is a normal part of writing letters to your grand-nephew?”

Ford winced. “That wasn’t...look, it’s not something you’d understand.”

“Understand? I understand plenty, Ford, you just don’t trust me!”

“He knows what it’s like to have Cipher inside you, okay!”Ford looked slightly sick. “What it’s like to deal with that charlatan. To be on the outside looking in at yourself, as your body is used by a hedonistic monster…” he shuddered.

Stan’s eyes were wide.

Ford adjusted his glasses, turning to Stan. “That was what I meant. I trust you Stan, as much as I can. But your experience only has so much overlap with mine.”

“Bullcrap,” Stan said gently.

Ford’s mouth dropped open.

Stan stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. “I’ve had him in my head, Ford. He was in my mind, my memories. I’ve never been possessed, but I know what a threat looks like when it comes after my family. Whatever needs to be done, you can make damn sure I'll do it. No more running. We make our stand here.”

Ford blinked. His voice was heavy. “Stanley...but how can you be sure—”

“I’m not, okay?” Stan turned to attend to the food, putting a finger under his glasses to surreptitiously wipe his eye, “I've never been as sure about anything the way you are. But I know one thing, and that’s the two Pines brothers are better than just a single Pine tree.”

Ford watched his brother’s back as he grated cheese, diced tomatoes.

“Stanley,” he said tentatively.

“Pines!” someone called from the front yard.


	11. For want of a sphere...

Both brothers flanked the front door. Ford held his magnet gun at the ready. Stan wielded a frying pan.

“Ready?” Stan asked grimly. Ford nodded. He pulled aside the front curtain just enough to see—

And dropped it.

“What?” Stan hissed as Ford’s face fell.

“I-it’s him. I can’t…” he gestured helplessly.

Stan peeked out the front window.

Fiddleford Mcgucket stood bowlegged on the front lawn, peering up at the shack.

“Fitz and mollycobbles! You kept me waiting thirty years, are you going to keep me out here much longer, Stanford Pines?” Mcgucket said in a high hillbilly shriek.

Stan looked at Ford, who was backing away.

“I can’t,” he repeated, “not now.”

Stan caught him by the shoulder. “We make a stand here, remember?”

Mcgucket squinted as the door opened. His eyes popped wide behind his emerald-green spectacles as both brothers stepped out of the shack.

“Stanford Pines, as I live and stink. You been cloning yourself?”

Ford coughed. “A-actually, Fiddleford, this is my brother Stanley. You two...you probably know each other a little, actually. He’s been living here for the past thirty years. I just got back.”

“Well, I’ll be the son of a tinker’s damn.” Mcgucket whistled low. “You pulled the old switcharoo on me. Well, no wonder.”

“Listen, Fiddleford…” Ford took off one of his gloves and twisted it. “I have to apologize—”

“Save it.” Mcgucket held up a hand. “I heard you’ve been muckin’ around with the portal again. I’ve come to offer what help I can in destroying it. The apologies can wait til after, we’ve got science to do!”

Ford chuckled. “Just like you, Fiddleford, to jump right to the point.” He stepped off the porch. Stanley followed.

They met Mcgucket in the middle of the yard. The old man was twitchy, every once in awhile he’d start hamboning involuntarily. Ford looked ashamed when he noticed.

“I’ve...I’ve been working on a quantum destabilizer,” he said, “with luck, a single shot will nullify the threat. But I can’t be sure. I need a second pair of eyes to go over the schematics. I know it’s been awhile, but—”

“Think nothing of it, Fordsy.” Mcgucket slapped his knee. “I haven’t had a chance to sink my teeth into something sciency for ages! We’ll have to check the particle resonance against the rift, make sure they’re on the same frequency. Just bring them both here, and we’ll get right to the bottom of it.”

Relief flooded Ford. “Oh, of course. I’ll be right back.”

A single word stopped him on the stairs: “Stanford.”

He turned and looked back. Stanley had his thumb surreptitiously pointing back at Mcgucket.

“Look at where he is.”

Ford, puzzled, looked at his former friend. It took a moment to sink in.

Mcgucket was standing just outside the protection field.

His blood rapidly cooling, Ford cleared his throat. “Fiddleford, ah...if you wouldn’t mind...follow me.”

Mcgucket didn’t move.

“Can’t you bring it out here? That old lab gives me the creepin’ trousers.”

“No, I think you really have to see it in person,” Ford replied flatly.

Mcgucket was silent for a beat. Then he grinned.

“WELL, WELL, WELL, WELL, WELL,” he said, “I’M THAT OBVIOUS AM I?”

Before either brother could react, he dove onto Stan’s back and put an arm across his throat. His muscles knotted with a surprising amount of strength.

“YOUR BROTHER AND I HAVE A FEW THINGS TO DISCUSS,” Cipher said, taking off the green glasses to reveal snake-slit pupils in yellow irises, “SO WHY DON’T YOU BE A GOOD BOY AND FETCH US THE RIFT, FORDSY?”

Ford let out a shout and grabbed for his magnet gun, dropping it in his rush. He fumbled to recover it with shaking hands.

“AH, AH, AH, IF YOU DON’T WANT ANYTHING TO HAPPEN TO YOUR BROTHER  HERE, I’D DO WHAT I SAY.”

Cipher aimed a wicked yellow thumbnail at Stan’s throat.

“Stanley!”

“MMM, YOU TWINS ARE ALL ALIKE. YOUR GREATEST WEAKNESS IS THE ONE PERSON DRAGGING YOU DOWN.” Cipher licked Stan’s cheek. “IT WOULD BE SO EASY TO JUST DO IT NOW. THEN YOU’D BE FREE. LIKE YOU ALWAYS WANTED.”

“I hate to tell you this, triangle,” Stan said, wincing in disgust, “but I ain’t afraid of you. And Stanford’s too smart to fall for that. Right, Sixter?”

Ford stood on the porch, magnet gun dangling from his slack grip.

“I-I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t let him hurt you. Stanley…”

“Ford?” Stan’s voice had gained a note of panic. “Your concern is touching but we’ve all seen this play out on TV. He’s going to do it anyway. Just...pretend like I’m already dead.”

“No!”

“THIS IS ALL REALLY TOUCHING AND JUNK, BUT I’M GETTING TIRED OF WAITING, **STANFORD**.” The thumbnail drew blood.

Ford took a step back.

“No, Ford—dammit!”

“THERE WE GO. YOU REALLY ARE THE SMART TWIN, AREN’T YOU?” Cipher’s woodpecker laugh poured from Mcgucket’s throat.

Ford looked down. “I’m sorry, Stanley, I have no choice.”

The door slammed behind him.

Cipher tugged himself up a little, making Stan grimace. He was looking around the mystery shack.

“THIS IS A NICE PLACE YOU HAVE HERE.” He whistled a little. “I THINK I’LL BUILD MY MURDER PYRAMID HERE. YOU KNOW, AFTER I REDECORATE.”

“Do you have to speak like that?” Stan asked, wincing. “You’re right up in my hearing aid.”

“SPEAK LIKE WHAT?” Cipher gave him the most innocent look a slit-pupiled face could.

Stan groaned. Mcgucket’s breath was a unique combination of spoiled meats and something weird and spicy that Stan could only attribute to possession. His back was in agony. Mcgucket was a wiry old man, but he felt oddly dense with Cipher squatting in his body.

“YOU’RE BETTER THAN YOUR BROTHER, YOU KNOW THAT? YOU TAKE THE EASY OPTION. HE’S ALWAYS GOT TO OVERTHINK IT AND MESS IT UP. I THINK I LIKE YOU.”

“Gee, lucky me,” Stanley grumbled.

“I MEAN IT. AS FAR AS 3-DIMENSIONAL LIFEFORMS GO, YOU’RE KINDA COOL. I’M ALMOST SORRY I TRIED TO WIPE YOUR MEMORY. NO HARD FEELINGS, RIGHT?”

“No, the hard feelings are from you threatening to kill me.”

Mcgucket’s eyes rolled back in his head as he chortled. “DON’T WORRY. I’M SURE WE CAN WORK SOMETHING OUT.”

Conversation was tailed when the mystery shack door flew open again. Ford emerged, black-gloved hand nearly enveloping the sphere within.

“That was fast,” Stan said bitterly.

Cipher laughed again. “LOOKS LIKE YOU REALIZED WHAT SIDE YOUR BREAD IS BUTTERED ON. GIVE ME THE SPHERE AND I’LL THINK ABOUT POSSIBLY RECONSIDERING YOUR ROLE IN THE COMING WEIRDPOCALYPSE.”

“Stan first,” Ford said gruffly, “I’m not that naive. Let him go, then I’ll throw it over.”

Cipher squinted. Slowly, he slid from Stan’s back. Stan pitched forward, clutching his throat and gasping.

Ford began walking to the barrier.

Cipher nodded. “GOOD, STANFORD. THAT’S IT.”

Ford shook slightly as he held the globe just outside the forcefield. It was snatched from his hand as Stan dove after it. Ford knocked his grasping hand away and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him inside the protective field.

Cipher lifted the globe above his head and gave a shrieking, whistling laugh. He held it up for a moment before dashing it on the ground.

The Pines brothers gasped as—

Nothing happened.

Cipher’s smile faded. He nudged the remains of the globe at his feet.

“SCENIC GRAVITY FALLS,” he read, “NO REFUNDS.”

Stan looked at Ford, who was still trembling with barely-controlled mirth.

“Well, Bill?” he asked, “it’s a sphere, isn’t it? I saved it, just for you.”

Stan’s face lit up. “Sixter! You bloody genius!”

He caught Ford around the neck in a hug as they laughed together within the confines of the force field.

As their laughter died down, they noticed a third voice accompanying them, one that flowered instead of fading. They turned as one to see Cipher laughing from an impossibly wide mouth.

“OH PINES TWINS,” he said, “HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR YOU.”


	12. For want of a plan...

Cipher walked along the perimeter of the shack, dragging curled fingers along the barrier so they left glowing trails.

“BOY OH BOY OH BOY, I BET YOU TWO FEEL SMART. ALL COSY AND SAFE BEHIND THAT BARRIER.”

Cipher leaned his forearm against the field, grinning maniacally.

“KNOW WHO ISN’T?”

They stared at him.

“EVERYONE ELSE. YOU WANT TO PLAY IT LIKE THAT? FINE. I’LL MOW THROUGH THIS TOWN. I’LL START WITH THE PEOPLE YOU KNEW BEST, **WORK MY WAY DOWN** . I’LL SAVE THIS OLD CODGER FOR **LAST**.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’LL TWIST HIS HEAD BACKWARDS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. STILL FEEL SMART THEN?”

Both brothers gaped at him.

“RIGHT. SO YOU BETTER RECONSIDER **BRINGING ME THE RIFT**.” Cipher laughed.

“I don’t think I thought this through properly,” Ford muttered.

“Well, hey, at least you got me back.” Stan’s expression did not match the confidence of his words. “There’s gotta be a way around this, right?”

“Yeah, but I need room to think.”

They snuck a glance at Cipher. He frowned.

“HEY YOU TWO. DON’T GET TOO COSY OR I MIGHT GET CONCERNED.”

“Can we have some time to discuss this?” Ford called. “The fate of my universe is not something I like to decide in the space of a few minutes.”

Cipher squinted. “WHY SHOULD I?”

“Well…” Ford looked around. “I’m...I'm almost sure of what’s the right thing to do. But I have to convince my brother here.” He laid a palm on Stan’s chest.

Cipher squinted. “SURE YOU WANT TO DO THAT?”

“Oh of course,” Ford said hurriedly. “I’m sure he’ll see reason. He is my brother after all.”

“HE’S YOUR BROTHER. AND YOU TRUST HIM?” Cipher was amused.

“...what do you mean by that?” Ford asked flatly.

“I DON’T KNOW. STAN, WHAT **DO** I MEAN BY THAT?”

Ford turned to Stan, who was barely hiding the guilt on his face by fiddling with his glasses.

“...look,” he said finally, “I was going to say something when the time was right. You were in such bad shape when I got here and I didn’t want to make you any worse—”

Ford backed away from his brother. The loss showed in Stan’s face.

“I-I've seen him before,” Stan admitted, “I was dreaming about him. Off and on, since you—since I left. I got worried. Actually, before the kids asked me, I was already going to come by and check on you.”

“Y-you kept this from me?”

“Well, yeah.” Stan was getting the stubborn glint in his eyes again. “You were all paranoid, it would just have made things worse.”

“He was in your mindscape, Stan? How do I know he didn’t possess you too?”

“ACTUALLY, GENIUS, MY INFLUENCE BUMPS DOWN TO NEAR-ZERO OUTSIDE OF GRAVITY FALLS. REALITY ISN’T WEAK ENOUGH FOR ME. BUT I CAN MANIPULATE YOU PRETTY EASILY. ALL I HAVE TO DO IS GIVE A FEW VAGUELY-WORDED WARNINGS AND YOU SCAMPER. YOU’RE A CAKEWALK COMPARED TO PINETREE AND SHOOTING STAR.”

“Don’t!” Ford turned, jabbing a finger at Cipher. “Don’t you speak of them, not ever!” He moved forward. “I swear, if you so much as—”

“Stanford!” Stan caught Ford by the hem of his coat. “You’re heading for the barrier!”

“I don’t care! This geometric screwball has gotten on my last ganglion!”

Stan dropped the coat. His face hardened as he said, “of course. It’s all about you, isn’t it?”

Ford stopped in his tracks. “Sorry?”

“Even with the fate of the world at stake, you’re willing to risk everything in a fistfight? I guess nothing matters as long as you're right.” Stan folded his arms.

Ford turned, astonished. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“I come here to help you, you shove me aside. Nothing’s ever good enough, is it Stanford? I kept this place running for thirty years, you pushed me out the first chance you got. I tell you to forget me, think of the bigger picture, instead you have to pull some smart maneuver and now you’ll wind up getting the whole town killed!”

Ford’s mouth opened and shut. “Do I even need to remind you who started this whole thing?”

“Gee, is it the guy who summoned triangle over there?” Stan pointed to Cipher, who was very amused.

Ford growled. “Stanley, this is neither the time nor the place.”

“When is it ever? Every time I want to talk, it’s not the right time. When was the right time, huh? When I traveled over ninety miles to see you on my last tank of gas, in the dead of winter, and you just wanted to send me packing again? When dad threw me out of the house with no job, no money, and no place to stay? Was _that_ the right time?!”

“You’re bringing up old issues to throw in my face!”

“They got old because they waited around for a certain six-fingered genius—not naming names here—to get off his hinder and _do something!!!”_

Ford blinked. His shoulders squared off as his brow lowered. His body sank into a ready stance.

Stan gestured smugly in a bring-in-on wave.

Ford yelled and charged. Stan didn’t bother dodging. He redirected Ford’s momentum beside him, so that he crashed through the front door, hitting it so hard it rebounded off the inner wall.

Stan charged in, shouting—

And slammed the door behind him.

“Finally,” he gasped.

Ford leaned against the wall he had used to arrest his flight, breathing heavily. “You mean that entire argument was just pretense to get us inside the house?”

“Worked, didn’t it? Stan said with a grin.

“Stan, your tactics are admirable, but it only buys us so much time. He’s going to suspect when he doesn’t hear us fighting in here.”

“It bought us privacy too, don’t forget that. Those eyes give me the creeps.” Stan walked down the hall, shuddering.

Ford caught up with him. “Stanley, when you left—”

Stan waved it away. “You were right. It’s really not the time for it. Later, when the universe isn’t about to explode, or something.”

“Okay.” Ford took a few steps. “But I _am_ sorry. I get too caught up in science sometimes, I realize that. It’s just…I'm the smart one. If I don’t have that, what am I?”

Stan turned to him vehemently. “Don’t let me hear you say that, not ever. You’ve got plenty of other things. I’m the screw up. Always have been, always will be.” His shoulders sank down. “If I wasn’t so stupid, we wouldn’t even be in this mess.”

Ford put his hand on Stan’s shoulder. “No, Stan, you’re not the screw-up. And you’re not stupid, either. You would never have fallen for Bill’s flattery. You would have seen him for what he was right away. He bought me with cheap compliments. I was ready to hand him the keys to our reality over a few words of praise, that’s how much of a screw-up I am.”

They boarded the elevator to the lab.

“I guess we’re both hard-up for hearing nice things about ourselves,” Stan ventured, “since we never got a whole lot of it at home.”

Ford smiled humorlessly. “You know what Mabel told me? Most of what we hold against each other is from other people. I didn’t really see it before. But it makes sense. When you went to burn the journal, I could just hear  dad shout: ‘you knucklehead!’” Ford took his glasses off and peered at them. “...only thing is, I'm not entirely sure which one of us he was shouting at.”

Stan wordlessly put an arm around his shoulders. When the elevator touched down, Ford returned the gesture.

“Now,” he said, gesturing to the lab, “what the hell do we do?”


	13. For want of an ending...

Ford unpacked the gun.

“Quantum destabilizer. I haven’t had time to test it yet, but it should do the job.”

“So what, this’ll...destabilize his quantum?”

Ford smiled. “More or less, yes. Trouble is, there’s only one shot.”

“Just like the shooting gallery on the pier.” Stan hefted the gun. 

“Careful!” Ford hovered his hands over the gun. “We only have one shot, remember!”

“And what are we shooting? You want to plug your friend McGucket between the eyes?”

Ford tugged on a glove, looking up at the ceiling. “That’s where I'm drawing a blank. After all I've put Fiddleford through, I don’t think it’s fair to—”

“Fair’s got nothing to do with it, Sixter.” Stan tucked the gun in his jacket. “Let’s go save the world from certain destruction. A-gain.”

“Why do you get to carry it?”

“Do you want me to have the rift?”

Under the scrutiny of Stan’s smug smirk, Ford tucked the rift in his jacket pocket.

“Just for funzies,” Stan said as they entered the elevator, “is there any kind of back-up to this?”

“Well, there are these.” Ford pulled out journal #4. “This wheel of symbols I found in the cave. I’ve never been able to decipher them.”

Stan peered at the page. “...hey, look at that. Six-fingered hand.”

“How odd. And look, this symbol resembles the one on your fez.”

Both brothers looked up.

“...bah.”

“Total coincidence.”

 

Cipher was reclining back in a position that looked painful for a man Mcgucket’s age. Ford winced in sympathy.

“Cipher, I realize you’re upset with me, but please spare Fiddleford. He’s done nothing to you.”

Cipher rose from the bottom-up in a wave: first his knees came up, then his hips, then his torso rolled fluidly in a way that didn’t seem possible, and finally his head snapped up.

“NEWSFLASH, PINES! IF HE HADN’T BEEN SUCH A SCAREDY-SPINE ABOUT WHAT HE SAW THROUGH THE PORTAL, YOU NEVER WOULD HAVE SHUT IT DOWN.” He tilted his head and grinned. The corners of his mouth looked raw from the effort. “WANT TO KNOW SOMETHING FUNNY? DELETING THE MEMORY OF ME WAS WHAT LEFT HIM OPEN TO POSSESSION. BY TRYING TO PROTECT HIMSELF, HE ENDED UP MAKING HIMSELF MORE VULNERABLE. ISN’T THAT HEE-LARIOUS?”

“What about that Blender guy?” Stan asked, “what did he want?”

“WHO?” Cipher rolled his eyes. “OH. HIM. HE WAS SO WEAK-MINDED I BASICALLY STROLLED IN. UNLIKE PLATEHEAD THERE—” he pointed at Ford, “—THERE WAS NOTHING STOPPING ME FROM JUST SETTING UP SHOP.”

“So then why didn’t you crack my noggin?” Stan gestured to his head. “You’ve already been in there once, didn’t even bother to wipe your feet.”

Cipher smiled. There was something equal parts smug and secretive about that smile, something Ford hated. He caught hold of Stan’s sleeve.

“STANLEY,” Cipher said in honeyed tones, “HAVE I EVER TOLD YOU WHAT I HAVE TO OFFER?”

Ford bristled. “Don’t listen to that isoceles madman, Stanley.”

Stan didn’t reply. He was looking at Cipher thoughtfully.

Cipher rocked back and forth on his heels and toes.

“HE ALREADY ABANDONED YOU TWICE, STANLEY. HE BLAMED YOU FOR EVERYTHING THAT WENT WRONG, EVEN WHEN IT WAS HIS FAULT. HE DIDN’T STAND UP TO YOUR DAD.”

Stan tossed a shoulder. “So? That’s behind us.”

“SO’S THE STAN O’ WAR, ISN’T IT?”

Stan was grimfaced and silent.

“OOH, HIT A NERVE, DIDN’T I?” Cipher resumed walking the perimeter. “YOU MISS THOSE TIMES, DON’T YOU STANLEY? WELL, I COULD GUARANTEE THEM BACK. I COULD GIVE YOU A BETTER BROTHER.”

Cipher clapped above his head, and then parted his hands in an arc. In a halo above his head, there was a golden vision of a figure standing on a boat at sunset. It turned—

And Stan gasped.

There was Stan, minus thirty years of hardship. A punch to the shoulder brought Ford into view. But not the Ford of the portal, not even the Ford of thirty years ago. This Ford was dressed identically to Stan, right down to the way he parted his hair. The two Stans looked at each other and laughed silently, triumphantly, in the rays of the setting sun.

Stan’s mouth had fallen open. His eyes were big.

“Stanley,” Ford said, a note of panic in his voice, “listen to me.”

“YOU COULD HAVE IT ALL BACK. YOU COULD GO EXPLORING LIKE YOU ALWAYS WANTED TO, YOU COULD BE YOUNG FOREVER AND NEVER BE ALONE AGAIN.”

Stan was looking at the vision as if he’d just been hit with something. Ford’s hands were shaking.

“It’s wrong, Stanley. I’m right here.” His own voice sounded weak and feeble next to Cipher’s.

“GIVE ME THE RIFT AND I CAN UNDO THE LAST THIRTY YEARS OF MISTAKES.”

“Stanley,” Ford said quietly, “I love you.”

Stan looked down at Cipher, up at the vision, then back down at Cipher.

“...will  _ everything  _ be set back thirty years?” he said slowly.

Cipher smiled. “SURE. AND ALL IT’LL COST YOU IS WHAT’S IN POINDEXTER’S SIX-FINGERED MITT, THERE.”

Stan turned to Ford.

Ford’s face was naked horror. All the strength he had gained on the other side of the portal, all his conditioning was forgotten as he shrank before his brother, shielding the rift with a turn of his body.

“Stanley,” he stammered, “you can’t really be—”

Stan growled, whapping Ford upside the head and knocking his glasses askew. “Give it to me, Stanford.”

The rift was snatched from Ford’s desperate grasp and tossed high. It cleared the forcefield with a ripple and kept going.  A glowing pyramidal outline bolted from Mcgucket’s body, leaving it to fall into a crumpled heap. Cipher soared triumphantly upward, fists clenched, arms up in a cheer.

“YES!  **YES!** LET’S START THIS PARTY OFF RIGHT!”

“Stanley!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Stanford—” Stan unsheathed the quantum destabilizer and casually shot sideways while keeping eye contact with his brother “—to trust me?”

The bolt arced over McGucket’s prone body, colliding with Bill’s shape  just as it lined up with the sphere. He started vibrating.

“WHAT—WHAT’S HAPPENING TO MEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?”

Both he and the rift vibrated until they were a single blur of color, before vanishing with a small pop.

Stan looked down at the gun and scratched his jowls. “Huh. I was expecting something more dramatic than that.”

He looked up to find Ford gaping at him.

“How…?” Ford gasped.

Stan grinned triumphantly. “Two rules of shystering, sixter. One: always mislead the table. Two—” 

He straightened Ford’s glasses and smiled. “Have a mirror.”

A grin split Ford’s face.

“Y-you did it? You really did it?”

“Well, it was more like  _ we  _ did it...but if you think about it, I did the bulk of the heavy lifting.”

Ford tackled him in a hug. “You did it! You lying shyster, you really had me going!”

A look of concern fell over Stan’s face. “You...you really believed I'd throw it all away for..that?”

Ford drew away to look at him. “Well, yeah. It was your— _our_ dream, wasn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, but…” Stan adjusted his fez. “Did you hear what he said? Thirty years? That means the kids would never have been born! Plus, I'd have to go through my thirties again. Probably end up marrying Marilyn a third time. Sheesh.” he shuddered.

Ford smiled again. “Should never have doubted you, bro.”

“Think nothing of it. You’re a lousy actor.”

Ford punched him in the shoulder. Stan yelped, and then returned the favor. They broke into laughter.

On the lawn, Fiddleford sat up.

“Oooweeee, feels like the kids have been using my body as a trampoline again!” he groaned.

Ford looked around the yard. “So what now? Cipher’s gone, the town is out of danger again. Do we...do we start over?” He picked up a shard of the ill-fated snowglobe, turning it this way and that in his hand. “Do we stay? Do we go? And what about the mystery shack? This town really needs it back.”

Stan slung an arm around him. “You leave that to me, Sixter.”

 

There have been thirteen chapters in the younger Pines twins life so far, and thirteen chapters to this story. Endings only exist in fiction, for, as we know, life itself just goes on and on and on.

So for want of an ending, have this…

Somewhere in Oregon, there is a man running a tourist trap. He wears his secondhand fez like a crown. His girlfriend visits from Portland to help him run it, because his only other help is a goat  that keeps eating things. Every day he looks at his reflection in the vending machine and smiles…

...somewhere, a redhaired girl sits on a hill with her friends. Sometimes they do something, most of the time they don’t do anything at all and love every minute of it. She tells her father that she works at the shack, and though she has not pulled a shift in months the man who runs it will back her up to his dying breath…

...somewhere, on a lake, a man and his son float aimlessly in innertubes while they fish. The younger man loses the hat shading his eyes, and a mechanical arm leaps from the nearby cooler to snag it back. Father and son exchange a high-five as they float….

...somewhere in California, a girl skips to put a valentine in her crush’s mailbox. It is fish-themed, as is every present she’s given him, but he stopped minding long ago. Meanwhile, her brother is looking in quiet shock at the girls putting envelopes in his own box. One of them, with red hair in a fishtail braid, winks at him. He blushes profusely….

...somewhere in the Arctic, two brothers are looking at a sunset. It is very like another sunset they once knew, and so they throw arms around each other’s shoulders and laugh loud and long. It doesn’t matter why or what at. They have plenty of reasons to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big, juicy thank-you to everyone who read and left such lovely comments, to everyone who read and left kudos, to everyone who read, period, just thank you so much. I seriously have to end this note now, I'm getting all teary.


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